


But It Could Be Love

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Elia Santini, M/M, Misunderstandings, filippo is a twin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 04:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20203618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Friends is all Elia is looking for when he meets the new kid, but there’s something about Filippo that Elia can’t quite explain. Elia’s brilliant idea to set him up with Martino may not go the way he plans when unexpected feelings crop up and threaten to derail everything.





	But It Could Be Love

**Author's Note:**

> My last and final contribution to elippo week! You can view all of my submissions on tumblr.

The first time Elia hears the name ‘Filippo’ also happens to be the first day in months Gio has shown up without Eva in tow.

“I can’t believe she let you out of her sight,” Elia says, smashing his thumb onto the controller as Martino tries to score a goal, triumphant when Marti misses.

“Shut up,” Gio says, rolling his eyes. “I do stuff without Eva all the time.”

Elia lifts his eyebrows in disbelief but doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. He only needs to exchange a knowing glance with Martino. Ever since Eva and Gio got together, ever since the whole Laura fiasco at the end of last year, they’ve been attached at the hip.

“It’s not like she has any other friends,” Martino offers, grimacing at Gio’s punch to the shoulder.

“I feel guilty enough as it is,” he says, and Elia shakes his head. All that drama was totally unnecessary, Gio dumping Laura for Eva. That’s not to say he doesn’t like Eva better than Laura. She at least has a sense of humor. Well, sometimes. Not last weekend at the lake.

Martino glances at Gio sitting in the squishy living room chair of Elia’s dad’s apartment. His dad is at work, and he won’t be home until late. Elia doesn’t miss the way Martino’s gaze lingers on Gio.

It’s obvious to anyone paying attention, Martino’s unrequited crush on Gio. Not that Elia had been paying attention, not until Martino came out this summer, told them both in a rush, high on the best weed they’d managed to score. Elia almost hadn’t believed him at first, sure it was just the weed going to his head, but Martino had looked more scared than high at the time.

“So where is she?” Martino asks, and Elia knows it’s meant to be merely curious, but Martino’s fixed gaze betrays him.

“Funny enough,” Gio says, shooting Martino a look. “She made a friend. Two friends. They’re new, twins. Eleonora and Filippo.”

Filippo. Elia hasn’t heard of him or seen him. They must be in a different class.

“Is she hot?” he asks. “And since Marti won’t ask, is _he_ hot?”

“Fuck you,” Martino says, cheeks going red. Elia isn’t sure Martino is ever going to date anyone.

Gio laughs, slouching in the chair, tossing a pillow at Elia. He bats it to the floor and scores another goal on Martino.

“I haven’t seen them. Either of them,” he says pointedly, for Martino’s sake.

“They’ve got to be on Instagram,” Elia says simply, elbowing Martino when Martino scores a goal against him.

“I haven’t stalked my girlfriend’s friends,” Gio replies, and Elia shrugs. 

“I would.”

“We know you would,” Martino mutters, shoving him back. “You’d probably DM her something gross.”

“Marti, have you ever been on a dating app? It’s what you do.”

“Instagram is not a dating app.” Martino makes a face, rolling his eyes.

“Is if you use it right.”

“Yeah?” Gio asks, amused. “What was the last date you got from an app?”

Gio has a point there, but Elia won’t admit it.

“I’m better at in-person,” he says, and Gio scoffs knowingly. Insulting is what it is, that Gio thinks Elia can’t score with girls. He’s hooked up with plenty of girls. “Where they can see my handsome face and charming smile.”

“Jesus,” Martino mutters, and Elia punches him in the shoulder in retaliation.

“What, Marti? You don’t think I’m handsome? Are you saying you wouldn’t date me?”

Martino’s mouth curls into a smile as he shakes his head. “Not in a million years, Eli.”

“I’m wounded,” Elia says, serious, clutching a hand to his chest as Gio laughs too loudly across the room. Not that he would ever date Martino. He knows far too much about him. That and he’s a guy.

“You should be,” Martino replies, scoring another goal. “Hah! I’m winning.”

Elia lets Martino change the subject, lets him score the goal, but he wonders as they sit there if Martino is going to pine after Gio forever, if Gio is ever going to notice, and if there’s anything he can do about it.

*

“What are we doing this weekend?” Elia asks as he leans against the fence outside the school, sunlight hot on the back of his neck.

Martino shrugs, not looking up from his phone. “Gio said something about going with Eva to a party.”

“What party?” Elia asks, perking up at the mention. He’s been bored out of his mind lately. Gio’s always off with Eva and Martino is a poor substitute these days, moping around without his best friend.

Martino shrugs again, putting the phone away finally. “I don’t know. Some older guys are throwing it.”

“We should go,” Elia says, watching Martino make a face. “Come on, Marti. Do you want to spend all your time alone?”

“I don’t spend all my time alone,” Martino protests, but they both know it’s not true.

“Okay,” Elia allows, throwing an arm over Martino’s shoulder and squeezing his neck. “Then we’ll go to the party and get completely wasted. Maybe we’ll find you someone.”

Martino snorts, shaking off Elia’s hand. “Yeah, right. There are no other gay guys at this school.”

“How do you know?” Elia asks, gesturing at the students milling outside the school. “Did coming out give you perfect gaydar?”

“That’s not a thing,” Martino says, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe not,” Elia allows. “But if a guy flirts with you, I’d say that’s a good indication.”

“No one has ever flirted with me.”

“You don’t know that.” Elia raises his eyebrows. Martino isn’t exactly known for being the most observant of Elia’s friends. 

Martino rolls his eyes again, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “Why do you care so much if I hook up with someone?”

Elia could tell him the truth, that it is so painfully obvious that Martino is in love with Gio, but for once in his life, he holds his tongue. It won’t help anything and would only make Martino defensive.

“I think everyone should be hooking up,” he says instead. “It’s our god-given right as teenagers.”

“If I go to this party, will you shut up about it?” Martino asks, and Elia grins, ruffling his hair.

“I’m gonna get you laid, Marti.”

Martino doesn’t protest, but he sighs as they lean back against the fence to wait for Gio and Eva. If there’s one thing Martino needs to move on from Gio, it’s finding someone else. Elia isn’t sure how much longer he can take the unrequited thing, even if Martino will never admit it. Elia is the one suffering here, watching the longing glances, the questions that are too specific to be casual. He’s going to fix this.

*

**Elia**  
What’s the plan?

**Gio**  
Going to pick up the stuff from Laura’s now. Meet at the park in a bit.

**Elia**  
Are we still going to the party? We need to find Marti a beau

**Martino**  
Fuck you Elia

Elia laughs at Martino’s response, tucking the phone away as he walks towards the park. He doesn’t care what Martino says. Elia is going to get him laid.

It’s already dark out when Elia reaches the park gate, the first one there. Leaning against the fence, he pulls his phone out, but there are no new texts.

It takes a few minutes, but footsteps finally draw Elia’s attention away from his phone, and he catches sight of Gio heading towards them. Gio’s not alone, but it isn’t Martino at his side. Instead, it’s someone Elia has never seen before, a tall, skinny guy with bleached blond hair and a silver lip ring.

“Hey.” Gio greets him, and Elia nods, but he’s curious about this new guy who’s wearing tight skinny jeans and a v-neck shirt that reveals a curl of chest hair. “I ran into Filo at the bus stop, invited him to come along.”

“Filo,” Elia repeats, and the guy smiles at Elia, his eyes scraping down Elia’s outfit—his loose-fitting tee shirt and jeans that have definitely seen better days.

“Eleonora’s brother,” Gio says, as if Elia is supposed to remember. He sort of remembers Eleonora—the hot new girl with dark hair and green eyes.

“Right,” Elia says, extending a hand finally. “I’m Elia.”

Filippo nods, pulling his lip ring into his mouth slowly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Filippo was heading to the party, but I convinced him to join us for a pre-celebration,” Gio says, holding up the bag of weed, and Elia grins.

“Just don’t tell Eva,” he says, and Gio’s expression gets serious, as if he hadn’t thought of that.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, turning to Filippo. “Eva doesn’t know and I don’t want her to.”

Filippo shrugs easily. “I don’t plan on telling Ele either.” He glances around. “Are we waiting for someone else?”

“Martino,” Gio says, and Elia turns his gaze to Filippo.

“You were going to the party dressed like that?” he asks, and Filippo’s eyebrows go up. “How did you even get into those pants?”

“Want to find out?” Filippo asks and Elia can’t help the way his eyebrows go up, surprised, and he feels the grin curl his face as Gio smacks a hand to his face.

“I should have warned you my friends are idiots,” Gio says, but Elia isn’t listening to him.

“You’re gay,” he says, not really a question, and Filippo doesn’t deny it.

“Got a problem?”

“No,” Elia says quickly, nodding to himself. No problem at all. In fact, Elia thinks he may be getting an idea. A brilliant idea.

“Good,” Filippo says, catching Elia’s eye, and Elia doesn’t miss his smirk.

“Should we just go to yours?” Gio asks after a minute. “Text Martino to go there?”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” Elia says, contemplating Filippo.

Filippo is pretty good looking, if Elia is any judge. He’s never really looked critically at guys before, never noticed much aside from obvious oddities of people’s faces. He has no idea what Martino likes in guys. Gio isn’t much to go on since he’s traditionally pretty with dark hair and blue eyes.

“A picture will last longer,” Filippo says, and Elia realizes he’s spent far too much time looking at him, trying to figure out if Martino would be interested.

He laughs it off. “I’ll just stalk your Instagram.”

“Bold,” Filippo says easily. “I bet yours is all graffiti and pictures of your friends.”

Gio is texting, not paying attention, and Elia smirks at Filippo.

“And what’s yours? Rainbow flags?”

“No reason not to be proud of who you are.”

He has a point, Elia admits. Stepping up beside Filippo, he leans back against the gate, listening to it creak under his weight.

“So no one’s said anything at school?” he asks, and Filippo frowns for a second, as though he doesn’t know what Elia is asking.

No one bothers Martino, not really, but it’s mostly because only Elia and Gio know, and they haven’t spread it around. Eva knows too, and Elia wonders if she’s told any of her new friends. He doesn’t think she would.

“People always talk,” Filippo says finally, over the tapping of Gio’s fingers on the keys.

Elia nods slowly, but he doesn’t get to respond as Martino finally shows up, hurrying down the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, barely noticing Filippo. “My dad was… and my mom…” He doesn’t finish, waving his hand vaguely. “I’m here.”

“Good,” Gio says, slinging an arm over Martino’s shoulder and turning him to face Filippo. “Marti, this is Filippo, Eleonora’s brother. I invited him to hang out with us.”

Martino nods at Filippo in a vague greeting, but that won’t do.

“Let’s go to mine,” Elia says, glancing at Filippo. “My mom’s gone for the weekend at some retreat thing. The whole house is empty.”

“Perfect,” Gio says, tugging Martino down the street, and Elia swears his ears go pink even in the dark. Shaking his head, he falls into step next to Filippo. Maybe he’ll start there.

“Eleonora’s your sister,” he says, and Filippo nods.

“Twin,” he says. “Although I am three minutes older.”

“Very important to know,” Elia allows, and Filippo smiles.

“I take my elder sibling duties very seriously.”

“Which is why you’re gonna come smoke with us while your sister is alone at a party.”

“Her friends are there,” Filippo says, shoulder bumping into Elia’s as they walk, and Elia doesn’t move away.

“We’re supposed to go later,” Elia says, glancing over at Filippo as they pass under a puddle of light from the lamp tall above them. “But we’ll see.”

Filippo smiles slightly. “How are parties here? I’ve been to a few clubs, but no parties.”

“Gay clubs?” Elia asks curiously. He’s never been. Martino has never suggested it—he thinks maybe Martino is a little afraid to put himself out there, or maybe he just doesn’t want to when Gio is right there. Up ahead, Gio still has his arm around Martino’s shoulder and he can hear them talking.

“You ever been?” Filippo asks, and Elia shakes his head.

“Never. Maybe we should go one day,” he says, nodding at Gio and Martino in front of them.

Filippo doesn’t glance ahead as he nods. “Maybe.”

Elia’s brain is already forming all sorts of schemes to get Filippo and Martino into a club together as they head to his house, and he smiles back as he catches Filippo watching him.

*

The night air is finally cool as they sit on the balcony, sharing the joint between them. Elia isn’t quite brave enough to do this inside where his mom could smell it immediately upon coming up. He doesn’t fancy getting grounded for a week.

Lights flicker and glitter in the darkness, a vast sea of people within the city. Elia likes this view, especially as his mind goes soft and smooth around the edges from the weed.

Filippo slips the joint from between Elia’s fingers, taking a long drag and holding it in his throat for a second before exhaling.

“I can’t believe your parents let you live alone,” Elia says, watching the smoke stream from Filippo’s mouth. Beside him, Gio is texting again, and Martino is reading over his shoulder. “Mine barely let me alone for a weekend.”

“That’s because you can’t be trusted,” Martino says, looking up from Gio’s phone.

“Says the guy who’s never on time.”

Filippo hands Martino the joint, and Martino takes it easily. Glancing between them, Elia leans forward.

“You know, Filippo, I bet you could help Marti.”

Martino’s eyebrows furrow, as though unsure about what Elia is about to suggest. Filippo looks just as confused.

“You could help him get his socials together. His Insta is a mess.”

Filippo laughs, leaning back on his hands, biting down on his lip ring. “Yeah, I could help you.”

Martino frowns, glancing between him and Elia. “Thanks? But I don’t really need it.”

“You haven’t posted in, like, months,” Elia points out, pulling up Martino’s account and showing Filippo. Filippo grimaces as he scrolls through.

“Yeah, it could do with a spruce.”

“I don’t need a ‘spruce’,” Martino protests, but Elia is already looking up Filippo’s profile, surprised when it pops up with very clearly aesthetic pictures, and only one rainbow on the whole page.

“Shit, these are good,” Elia says as he scrolls through. “Really good.” He hadn’t expected Filippo’s Instagram to be like this, all artistic and pretty. There are lots of shots of Eleonora, even one of Eva where she actually looks happy. Elia isn’t sure he’s seen her that happy lately. There are also shots of Filippo shirtless, and Elia bets Martino would never dare.

“I’m into photography.” Filippo shrugs, but he’s watching Elia.

“Fuck, Marti, you’ve got to let him help you.”

“What about you?” Martino asks, passing Elia the joint. “All you take pictures of are food.”

“You’re a food blogger,” Filippo says with a little laugh, and Elia doesn’t know what’s funny about that.

“I like food.”

“We know,” Gio says without looking up from his phone, and Elia shoots him a glare.

“Are you calling me fat, Garau?”

Gio lifts his head finally, a smirk there. “Girls like’em trim.”

“When was the last time you worked out?”

Gio shrugs, setting the phone aside, but he doesn’t reply. Flicking the joint, Elia brings it to his mouth, disgruntled. There is no harm in taking pictures of food and putting it online.

“So what do you say, Marti?” Elia asks finally, taking his phone back from Filippo. He smiles when he notices Filippo followed himself from Elia’s account.

“I’d say yours needs more work.”

Martino is not giving Elia anything to work with here, whereas Filippo smiles at Elia and shrugs.

“I can teach you about lighting and composition. But in return, we get to eat good food, right?”

Elia laughs, nodding his head. “Sure.” He takes another drag of the joint as Gio gets another text. “Bro, who keeps texting you?”

“Eva,” Martino answers before Gio can.

Gio jerks his shoulders after a second. “I’m supposed to be at that party.”

“Fuck the party,” Elia says, and even Martino looks surprised.

“I thought we had to go,” he says. “Didn’t you say?”

That was before the perfect opportunity bumped into Gio at the bus stop, Elia thinks. Before they met possibly the only other gay guy in their school, a guy who is funny and good-looking (Elia thinks so anyway, despite not really knowing what makes another guy attractive) and perfectly comfortable with who he is. What were the odds?

But Martino doesn’t seem to see it, at least not considering the way he keeps glancing at Gio.

Sighing, Elia shakes his head. “Speaking of food, I’m starving. I’m gonna go order a pizza and get some beer.”

Handing off the joint to Filippo, he pushes himself up from the hard floor of the balcony, blinking at the head rush.

Inside, he pulls out his phone, tapping in his order as he heads for the kitchen, pausing before the fridge as he hits submit. Yanking open the door, the beers clink together and Elia grabs one.

When he turns, he’s surprised to find Filippo behind him.

“Hey,” he greets him, though. “You want a beer too?”

“Sure,” Filippo agrees, and Elia pulls out another.

Rummaging in the drawer, Elia’s fingers close over the bottle opener and he hands it off to Filippo first.

“Pizza’s on the way,” Elia says as Filippo cracks the top off the bottle and hands the opener back.

Filippo steps up beside Elia, leaning against the counter, and Elia thinks they should go back out to the balcony. That’s where Martino is, Martino, who is frustratingly obtuse when it comes to set-ups. But Elia doesn’t want to move, limbs heavy from all the weed.

“I was supposed to be at that party,” Filippo says after a minute of silence. “Eleonora said it would be good to get out, meet some of the kids from school in a place that’s not school, you know?”

Elia nods. He supposes it must be hard to be the new kid. He’s never had to be, always in the same class, always with the same people year after year.

“You could still go,” he says, turning to Filippo, a hip perched against the counter. “I bet there’s plenty of beer there, and lots of older guys, if you’re into that.”

Probably none of those upperclassmen are gay, though, so it’s kind of a moot point, Elia thinks.

Filippo laughs slightly. “I’m not into anything in particular. I’m kind of glad I ran into Gio.”

“Free weed,” Elia says with a shrug, smiling at Filippo.

“Better company probably too,” Filippo agrees, and Elia laughs.

He didn’t think he would get along this well with someone he barely knew, but there’s something about Filippo—a glint in his eye or a quirk to his lips that makes Elia smile at everything he says. If only Martino would see it, then they could get him out of his moping stage.

“We should probably bring the guys some…” Elia says, but he doesn’t quite finish as Filippo leans in and kisses him, hands and either side of his neck.

It’s probably the weed that makes Elia hesitate, or at least that’s what he tells himself later when he relives this moment over and over again, makes Elia tilts his chin up just a hair, confused at the feeling of Filippo’s lips against his.

It isn’t any different than a girl, but somehow, it’s completely different. There’s a scrape of stubble, the cold slide of Filippo’s lip ring, but it’s still soft and slow, like a first kiss should be.

“Uh,” Elia manages to say after a second, moving back, blinking slowly. He feels dizzy somehow, a little out of breath even if the kiss lasted barely a few seconds. He shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around what just happened. “I’m not…”

Filippo blinks, and Elia sees understanding flood his eyes, a momentary panic Elia hurries to ease.

“No, it’s cool. Marti’s the one who… Hey, don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t know why he’s trying so hard to assure Filippo it’s okay. Shouldn’t he be freaked out by another guy kissing him? If Marti had tried to do that, Elia surely would have shoved him away.

“Shit,” Filippo mutters, taking a step back, and Elia doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry. I just thought… Never mind.”

Elia has no idea what Filippo thought. That Elia was into him? That Elia is into guys? 

“It’s fine,” Elia says, attempting to reassure him. “All guys should want to kiss me honestly. It’s a crime they don’t.”

Filippo doesn’t smile at his joke, not meeting his eyes now, and Elia grimaces. The whole point of this was to set up Filippo with Martino, but that is clearly not what’s happening.

“Filo,” he says, and Filippo shakes his head, swallowing and lifting his head. His expression betrays nothing as he flashes Elia a smile.

“I should probably get back before Eleonora calls asking why I didn’t show up to the party.”

Elia opens his mouth to stop him somehow, but he doesn’t know how. He hadn’t expected this to happen.

“You don’t have to,” he says finally, and Filippo shrugs.

“Thanks for the weed and the beer.” He lifts his undrunk bottle and sets it on the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you at school.”

_Fuck_. Elia doesn’to stop Filippo as he turns and heads for the front door. He doesn’t even know what he would say to make him believe that it’s really okay. Elia isn’t one of those assholes who gets all weird around gay guys. In fact, if he admits it, he finds it kind of nice that someone like Filippo would be into him. A little ego boost, if he was so self-centered.

“Where’d Filo go?” Gio appears in the doorway, and Elia holds in his sigh as he turns to him. 

“He had to get home.”

Gio makes a noise of agreement, groaning as his phone vibrates with a new text. “Fuck, Eva is going to kill me.”

Elia doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t care about whatever new drama they’re having, not when he’s just made a bit of his own. He honestly isn’t even sure how the fuck it happened, but he may be out a friend before he’s even made one.

*

Whatever happened at the party, whatever Eva was angry with Gio about, seems to be over, Elia thinks as he turns away from them making out against the wall. He can only take so much of their gross romantic bliss. And spit-swapping. He doesn’t need to look at it.

Martino turns with him, rolling his eyes at the pair of them.

“I heard that Sana girl threw a drink in Laura’s face at the party,” Martino says, and Elia doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about what Eva and her friends do at parties except when it gets in the way of their evenings. Although last weekend was definitely not Eva’s fault.

Elia has spent too many hours going over the night in his head—it’s something he shouldn’t even be thinking about. So Filippo kissed him? So everything got weird after that? It doesn’t have to be like that. Elia likes Filippo, as a friend. He’s never considered kissing a guy before, never even wondered what it might be like. Elia has officially kissed more guys than Martino has.

The thought almost makes Elia laugh, but he doesn’t when he catches sight of Eleonora approaching, followed by a slightly reluctant-looking Filippo.

Elia hasn’t spent much time thinking of what he’s supposed to say to Filippo, if they can just go on as if nothing happened.

“Hi, guys.” Eleonora greets them all, and Filippo draws himself up, glancing once at Elia before focusing on Eleonora and Martino instead. “Good weekend?”

Elia glances at Filippo, who doesn’t meet his gaze, watching Eva and Gio wrapped up behind them instead. He doubts Filippo would have told Eleonora about what happened, but then, he doesn’t know anything about their relationship. 

Eleonora doesn’t seem to mean anything by it, and Martino shrugs in response.

“It was fine.”

“I have to go meet some guys from class,” Filippo says to Eleonora. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

Eleonora makes a face at him, at his obvious teasing. “Go away. No one invited you over here anyway.”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Filippo says, and Elia frowns as he turns.

“Hey, hold up. I’ll go with you. I don’t need to watch this anymore.” He gestures to Gio and Eva, who have finally broken apart.

Filippo pauses as Elia grabs his bag off the ground and jogs a little to catch up.

“They’re not your classmates,” Filippo points out as they head toward the school, past groups of kids Elia has never spoken to.

“That was a very obvious excuse to talk to you,” Elia says, trying for humor, and Filippo raises his eyebrows.

“You don’t have to do this, Elia,” he says, sighing as they climb the stairs. “It was my mistake. I should be apologizing to you.”

“You did,” Elia reminds him. “And it’s not a big deal, I swear. I kind of like that you’re into me.”

Filippo stops walking, abrupt, turning to Elia, who grins. “I’m not into you.”

“So you just kiss everyone you don’t like?”

Elia can do this. He can make a joke, make things okay as long as everyone smiles.

Filippo pauses, staring at him for a second, mouth open slightly before he shuts it and nods. “That’s how I weed out the homophobic ones.”

“Good system,” Elia says, and they keep walking. “I guess I passed?”

He catches the smile at Filippo’s lips, tiny but genuine this time.

“Yeah, sure, you passed.”

Elia doesn’t know why he feels so satisfied to hear it, but he’s glad it’s not going to be awkward between them forever.

Walking down the hall, Elia follows Filippo since he doesn’t have anywhere particular to go except to his own classroom, but it’s too early just yet.

“So what is your type?”

Filippo’s eyebrows go up and he glances at Elia. “Do you ask Marti these questions too?”

“Fuck no,” Elia says, shaking his head quickly. “Marti doesn’t talk about that shit anyway. But at least we also don’t have to hear him pretending to like girls anymore. Not that he was very good at it in the first place.”

It isn’t as though Elia noticed before, until Martino came out, how little Martino talked about girls. He’d been too wrapped up in his own hormones to notice.

“So what makes you think I’ll tell you?” Filippo asks, coming to a stop outside a classroom.

Elia shrugs. “I mean, you did have your tongue in my mouth.”

“I did not,” Filippo argues, staring at him. “You’re a little shit.”

Elia laughs. “Maybe. But you owe me this at least.”

Rolling his eyes, Filippo pauses a second. “I don’t know. My last boyfriend was kind of a jerk, but he was cute. He had this little cowlick thing that he hated, but I thought it was adorable.”

“So you’ve had boyfriends.” Elia hasn’t even had a girlfriend, not really, not unless he counts Mara when he was eight, but they only lasted until art class when he dumped paint on her head.

Filippo nods. “It’s easy when you actually talk to them.”

“Girls love me,” Elia corrects him. “I’m in high demand.”

“Eleonora thinks you’re an immature jerk.”

Elia scoffs. “I don’t even talk to her.”

“Exactly.” Filippo perches against the wall, and Elia wonders if he actually has to meet those guys from his class or if it was just an excuse to get away from Elia.

Elia doesn’t care what Eleonora thinks of him. He’s not trying to hook up with Eleonora.

“Do you think I’m an immature jerk?”

For a second, Filippo doesn’t reply, and Elia starts to get worried. Not that it matters if Filippo does think it. He’s not trying to hook up with Filippo either.

“An immature jerk wouldn’t have followed me to an empty classroom just to make sure we were okay,” he says finally, and Elia smiles.

“I knew you were lying about the guys.” He’s just glad they are okay. Elia hasn’t made many new friends since primary school, and he probably should work on his social skills if he can’t manage to make one new one.

“Third-wheeling’s not really my style,” Filippo says, and Elia nods.

“It was more like sixth-wheeling.”

Filippo shakes his head, but he smiles at Elia’s stupid joke. “You’re really not funny.”

“You’re smiling,” Elia points out. “I’m funny.”

He knows Filippo is trying not to when he bites his bottom lip and shakes his head again.

“Not funny at all.”

Elia knows he’s lying, and he’ll take it.

*

“You and Filippo seemed to get along.”

Elia kicks his skateboard up, glancing over at Martino. It’s already late in the afternoon and it’s beginning to look as if Gio won’t be showing up. Not that Elia minds. He could do with one day in which he doesn’t have to hear about how beautiful Eva is.

He’s surprised to hear Martino bring up Filippo, especially since he barely seemed to acknowledge him the other day at Elia’s house.

“He’s a cool guy.” Elia shrugs. “Or didn’t you notice?”

“I noticed,” Martino says, almost defensively. “You just seemed to click really well.”

Throwing an arm over Martino’s shoulders, Elia ignores the other guys at the skate park zooming past them. They really shouldn’t be standing in the middle of it, but it’s getting later and later and Elia will have to go home soon.

“Are you jealous, Marti? That I’m better at making friends than you?”

Martino rolls his eyes, shrugging off Elia’s hand. “Completely,” he says, deadpan, and Elia grins at him.

He’s known Martino almost as long as he’s known Gio, and even if they’re not as close, they’re still friends. Elia still wants Martino to be happy.

“So what did you think? Was he good-looking enough?”

Martino shoots Elia a look, so unimpressed, Elia thinks he might not even answer him. Elia doesn’t know why not. It isn’t as if Martino ever talks about guys he likes, guys he finds attractive, not the same way Elia talks about girls, not even the same way Gio waxes poetic about Eva and her hair and her eyes and her skin.

Of course, Elia knows why Martino doesn’t.

“You think just because he’s gay and I’m gay, we should somehow be together?”

“No,” Elia says, grabbing his skateboard off the ground. On Martino’s look, he shrugs. “Okay, why not?”

“Do you want to hook up with every girl you meet?”

“No.” There are plenty of girls Elia has never looked twice at. And half of them don’t look twice at him. Elia is okay with that.

“So just because another guy is gay doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.”

Elia can understand that, and he jerks his shoulders. “Alright,” he agrees after a second, watching a kid swish past and tumble off over the ramp. The streetlamps are beginning to come on and he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Probably his mom asking when he’ll be home. “But what’s wrong with Filo?”

Filippo is one of those people that intrigues Elia, with his bleached hair, tight shirts that scream that he isn’t afraid to be himself, even that he hadn’t hesitated to kiss Elia, to take that risk.

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Martino says, shaking his head and moving finally, stepping out of the depression and hopping up onto the edge. Elia follows, curious about what Martino thinks of Filippo. “He seems nice, cool.”

“If you had to pick a guy,” Elia says, and Martino immediately rolls his eyes, but Elia thinks it’s a valid question, and he’s never asked the question before. “Come on, Marti. If I had to pick a girl, right now, I’d go for Daniela. She’s hot.”

“She’s never even looked at you.”

“I like a little challenge.” Elia arches his eyebrows at Martino, who sighs. He knows Martino isn’t going to tell him, but fuck, Elia wishes he would. Wishes Martino would just get it out there in the open so they could move on.

Martino doesn’t answer, though, not when Elia’s phone starts vibrating, and he pulls it out of his pocket, grimacing at his mom’s name on the screen.

“Shit, I have to get home before she freaks out.” He was supposed to be home half an hour ago for a ‘family’ dinner which just means them having pasta while some weird classical music plays on the stereo. They’ve been a weird tradition ever since his parents got divorced three years ago.

“I guess Gio’s not coming,” Martino says as he checks the time on his phone.

“You need more friends, Marti,” Elia tells him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Consider Filippo.”

“Whatever,” Martino mutters, and Elia grimaces as his phone starts ringing again.

“I got to go,” he says, turning away as he answers the phone and leaves Martino behind.

*

Elia doesn’t check the chat when Gio’s predictable excuse comes hours later, lying on his bed in the semi-darkness, scrolling through Instagram aimlessly. He pauses on a picture of Daniela before double-tapping.

He has homework to do, textbooks piled up at the foot of the bed, an unorganized mess of papers in his backpack, but he can’t bring himself to change positions, to get up and do any of it. He’d rather lay there, shadows from the lamp creeping over the dark walls, shoes kicked off on the floor, holding the phone above his face.

Moving on from Daniela’s photo, Elia scrolls down to one Filippo posted an hour ago. It’s an artsy photo of Filippo’s face, cast half in shadow, and Elia smiles to himself as he likes the picture and brings up Filippo’s profile.

Filippo definitely puts thought into his profile, whereas Elia posts whatever he happens to post. Filippo’s has an _aesthetic_ in a way Elia doesn’t think he’d ever be able to achieve, or even want to attempt.

Hitting the message button, Elia settles in on the bed, shoving a hand through his hair before he types.

_When are you going to take a really artsy picture of me?_

Filippo is clearly online because his answer takes less than two minutes to come.

_I wouldn’t want to ruin your profile with class._

Snorting, Elia shakes his head as he types his response. Filippo is just as much of a jerk as Elia is. He just hides it behind brightly-colored shirts.

_I’ll trade you a picture of food._

_You mean we’re going to go to get food and take a picture of it?_

Elia smiles at the message. He can almost hear Filippo’s unimpressed tone through the phone.

_A food picture without food isn’t really anything._

Maybe he can get Martino to come with them, get Martino to talk to Filippo without Gio there. Maybe then Martino would actually see Filippo as an option. After all, Elia already knows Filippo is a good kisser, and what else matters?

_Gelato on a picturesque lake?_ Filippo sends a minute later, and Elia smiles to himself.

_If you’re nice._

Filippo doesn’t reply for a few minutes, and Elia stares at the screen. It isn’t as though Elia cares whether or not Filippo actually takes one of those fancy artsy pictures of him. He hadn’t really expected Filippo to take him seriously.

Elia has tried not to dwell on the kiss, not since he talked to Filippo last week about it, about being friends. Logistically, it was the same as any other kiss he’s had. It’s just the person on the other end was different.

Elia likes to think he’s open-minded, that he doesn’t care if some guy thinks he’s cute, if a guy flirts with him, as long as there’s a line somewhere. Elia likes girls. He always has. That’s the plain and simple truth.

His phone pings with a new message and he glances down at the two words from Filippo that pop up under his last message.

_You’re on._

*

It’s not exactly a picturesque lake, but there is gelato and there are trees. Elia hadn’t managed to convince Martino to come along. Martino had given some excuse about his parents and having to stay home to do something. Elia hadn’t really been listening once Martino said no.

The gelato starts to drip down Elia’s fingers as he watches Filippo fiddle with the settings on his camera. It’s a big, fancy camera that Elia would have no idea how to operate.

“Time is a bit of the essence when it comes to photographing gelato,” Elia says, not missing the way Filippo tosses him a glance. Raising the camera, Filippo snaps a picture and Elia can hear the click of the shutter.

“Just testing the light.”

Elia has no idea about light or composition or any of those other words Filippo had used earlier when he’d been taking pictures of Elia unbidden, pictures of Elia making stupid faces and laughing at Filippo ushering him around the park, searching for the perfect ‘Insta-ready shot.’

“It’s all in the editing,” Filippo says, taking his gelato from Elia finally. “So explain to me what’s so special about food shots?”

“The food, obviously,” Elia says, stepping up next to Filippo and watching him raise the camera, framing the photo. “But also the background. Gelato is easy because it’s cliche. You could take a picture in front of an old building or in a park or anywhere, and it will look good.”

“So I get the easy food, huh?” Filippo teases, angling the cone as a drip falls to the ground.

“Gotta walk before you can run.”

“Speaking of cliche,” Filippo says, but Elia ignores him, reaching for Filippo’s hand and pulling it closer to the middle of the frame.

“Make fun all you want, but these pictures always get a ton of likes.”

Filippo takes the photo and changes the angle slightly as Elia watches. Elia isn’t a photography guru by any means. He takes all his pictures on his phone, and most of them are of badly-lit food or him with his friends. He’s not trying to get Instagram famous or anything.

“Well, now it’s just getting messy,” Filippo says, lowering the camera and licking the gelato where it’s dripping down his hand.

“You got the shot,” Elia assures him, licking his own gelato that is getting soft and melty in the afternoon sun.

“Is that an official approval?” Filippo asks, cheeky, struggling for a second to put his camera away in between keeping hold of the gelato.

Reaching over, Elia holds open Filippo’s bag for him, letting him slip the camera inside. He zips it, glancing up to find Filippo watching him, an almost amused look on his face.

Ignoring it, Elia nods at Filippo’s ice cream. “You’re about to lose all of it.”

“I’m not a huge fan of raspberry anyway,” Filippo says, and Elia stares.

“Then why the hell did you get it?”

“It’s red. Better contrast for photos,” Filippo says, as if it’s the simplest explanation in the world. Elia shakes his head when Filippo tosses what’s left in a nearby trash can and they move over to a bench in the shade.

It’s a beautifully sunny day in the park, a light breeze rustling the trees and a cat suns itself on one of the ruins beyond the orange tree grove.

Elia finishes his gelato as they sit there, watching Filippo beside him. Filippo doesn’t do anything but sigh, leaning back against the bench and setting his ankle across his knee. His jeans today aren’t as tight, but they are strategically ripped across the knee.

“Can I ask you a dumb question?” he says after a minute, and Filippo glances at him.

“Just one?”

Elia ignores him. “Is it different, for gay guys?”

Filippo pauses, frowning slightly. “Is what different?”

“Dating.” Maybe that’s why Martino is so hung up on Gio, why he hasn’t tried to find someone else, because it’s too hard. Elia has no idea.

“Not really,” Filippo says, after a moment’s pause. “I mean, maybe. It’s not like I can look at any guy and know he’ll be interested.”

“Not all girls are interested either,” Elia points out, and Filippo laughs.

“True, but you at least know most of them are attracted to guys.”

“And how do you know if a guy is interested?”

For a second, Filippo stares at him before blinking slowly. “Flirting is a big clue. Smiling a lot. Laughing at your dumb jokes. Touching you when he doesn’t have to. Inviting you to hang out alone.”

Elia nods, thinking. He isn’t sure Martino would notice any of those things. Martino can be ridiculously oblivious sometimes. Martino is probably going to die alone at this rate. Elia wouldn’t call himself the most observant person, but he’s pretty sure he would notice someone flirting with him.

A leaf flutters down across the path, swept away in the wind a second later. As they sit there, silence falls between them, and it’s not awkward for once. Elia doesn’t feel the need to fill it with some stupid comment. Instead, he leans back against the bench, content to sit there for a while, with Filippo.

*

It’s almost time to go in, students milling outside of school, attempting to prolong the morning as much as possible. Leaning against the wall, Elia listens to what Martino is saying about the Latin homework and wondering if he even did it. 

Before he can answer his own question, he spots Eva walking past with the short, blonde, high-strung one. He doesn’t remember her name.

“What was that?” Martino asks Gio when Eva passes them by without a glance, joining Eleonora on the other side of the yard. Elia’s eyes pass right over the girls to Filippo scrolling through his phone beside them. 

Gio sighs, shaking his head. “I was supposed to have dinner with her parents on Friday, remember? I got stuck at Laura’s waiting for her brother and Eva heard her on the phone.”

“Shit,” Elia mutters. He may not know much about dating but he does know you shouldn’t get caught with an ex. 

“What did you tell her?” Martino asks, and Elia glances over again, catching Filippo’s eyes. Filippo smiles a little, in greeting, tucking his phone away and Elia looks away as he heads over. 

The photo Filippo took of him, the one of him licking dripping ice cream off his hand, had gotten Elia over a hundred likes. Even though the whole point of the outing was to get Martino and Filippo together, Elia couldn’t help but admit he’d been kind of glad Martino hadn’t been there.

“I told her it was my mom,” Gio says to Martino and Martino’s eyebrows rise.

“And she believed that?”

“No. That’s why she’s pissed.”

Gio cuts himself off as Filippo approaches and Elia knows why. Filippo is Eleonora’s brother. Who knew how much he told her. 

“Hey,” Filippo greets them, and Martino tears his gaze from Gio. 

“Hi.”

Martino is completely hopeless, Elia thinks as Martino merely nods at Filippo in greeting. It isn’t as if Martino has to go makeout with Filippo or something, but the least he could do would be to entertain the possibility of liking someone other than his best friend.

Shaking his head, Elia nods at Gio and changes the subject. He’s had more than his share of talk of girls lately.

“So what are we doing on Wednesday?”

“What’s Wednesday?” Filippo asks as Gio smirks at Elia. 

“Nothing important,” Gio says and Elia scoffs, caught somewhere between insulted and not surprised. 

“It’s only the best day of the year,” Elia says, setting his hand on Filippo’s shoulder. Filippo is a few inches taller than him, and he shifts under Elia’s grasp. “The day I was brought into this world. The day Rome was blessed with my presence. The day all of your lives changed.”

“I wasn’t born yet,” Martino says and Elia ignores him. 

“It’s your birthday,” Filippo says with a half-smile. 

“The one and only,” Elia assures him, looking back to Gio, who’s typing something on his phone. “So what are we doing?”

“Dinner?” Gio asks, sounding distracted, and Elia knows it’s because of Eva, Eva who is standing not fifty feet away and refusing to look at them. He wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t out of respect for Gio. The guy is completely useless when it comes to Eva. He doesn’t understand how love can make you so stupid. 

“Jesus, I at least deserve to get drunk,” he says, glancing between Martino and Gio. Between the two of them, Elia feels like he’s drowning in drama, whether it involves him or not. 

“Ele has some study group on Wednesday,” Filipino says when Gio frowns at his phone and Martino watches him do it. They’re all terrible friends, Elia decides. “We could go to my place afterward.”

“See?” Elia asks seriously, squeezing Filippo’s shoulder. “Someone cares about me, unlike you two.”

Martino doesn’t even argue, shrugging instead, and Gio looks up. 

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

Fine isn’t what Elia wants for his birthday, but it seems like all he’ll get with the two of them so distracted.

“Don’t worry,” Filippo says, leaning into Elia’s ear. “It’ll be a great birthday.”

Flashing Filippo a smile, Elia shrugs, dropping his hand from Filippo’s shoulder. He feels strangely warm as Filippo gazes at him. 

“I’m sure it will be.”

Elia just wants to celebrate, and he’ll do it any way he can, especially if Filippo is there. Especially if all his friends are there. 

*

Martino is smiling for once as Elia drops down on the couch next to Filippo, Martino on the other side. He still can’t believe Filippo and Eleonora live all alone in this big apartment, the balcony filled to the brim with plants, the living room squished with comfortable furniture, surprisingly tidy considering two seventeen year olds live there.

Beer bottles scatter the coffee table, opened and empty, and Elia has a new one in his hand, well on his way to tipsy, and he thinks Martino might already be there from the way his cheeks are going pink as he laughs at something Filippo says.

Elia’s plan is working perfectly, he thinks, leaning into Filippo to hear what Martino is saying, pressed against Filippo’s arm, and he feels Filippo shift slightly.

“And then Gio had to climb out her window, holding onto his pants. He nearly broke his arm falling on a car,” Martino says, breaking into laughter.

Across from the couch, Gio rolls his eyes and gets up from where he’s repositioning a passed-out Peccio so he doesn’t suffocate on the carpet.

“It’s not as funny as it sounds,” he assures Filippo, whose eyebrows are in his hairline.

“It sounds pretty funny,” Filippo allows, glancing over his shoulder at Elia.

Of course Martino is telling a story about Gio. He is totally hopeless.

“It’ll never happen to Marti,” he says, shooting him a look. “He’ll never find anyone’s window to climb out of.”

Martino opens his mouth to argue, but Filippo jumps in, to both Elia and Martino’s surprise.

“It’s okay not to make out with every guy you meet. It takes time to find the right person.”

“Thank you,” Martino says pointedly, and Elia rolls his eyes.

“You’re not even looking,” he says. “You should get on Grindr.”

Gio groans as he settles in the chair, and Martino makes a face. Elia glances at Filippo as a thought pops into his head.

“Are you on Grindr?”

“Fuck, Eli, you can’t just ask that,” Gio says, but Filippo laughs instead.

“Yeah, I have an account,” he admits, and Elia shoots Gio a triumphant look.

“Well, come on, I want to see,” he says eagerly. “Is it just all shirtless pictures of guys?”

“You seem awfully eager to look at naked guys,” Gio says easily, taking a swig of his beer and checking his phone for the third time in fifteen minutes. Elia knows he’s waiting to hear from Eva, to find out if she’s forgiven him for his latest lie, or rather, finally believed it.

Elia catches Martino watching him as Filippo pulls out his phone and opens the app.

It is a lot of pictures of headless guys, but some have pictures of their faces, and Elia watches Filippo scroll through aimlessly. He doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, but he didn’t expect to.

“What’s your profile picture?” he asks curiously, nudging Filippo in the side. Finishing off his beer, Elia watches Filippo hesitate. “Is it embarrassing? Shirtless? You have plenty of those on Instagram.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Filippo says, bringing up his profile, and Elia leans into his shoulder to look.

It’s a good picture of Filippo, but his hair is different, a bright pink that jumps off the screen.

“Wow, that is pink,” Elia says, taking the phone from Filippo and scrolling down to the bio. “What does vers mean?”

Gio buries his head in his hands and Martino goes bright red. It only takes Elia a second for it to click, and he nods.

“Oh, shit, right.” Handing back the phone, he doesn’t need to see anymore. Filippo only shakes his head, as though amused. “Marti, we need to get you on here. Filo can take some great photos for your profile. Abs only, you know, if you had any of those.”

“You mean like that absurdly sexual ice cream photo?” Martino asks, and Elia grins.

“He could do that for your profile. I got ten new followers from that picture alone.”

“I’m sure it was the artistry.” Martino rolls his eyes.

“You can’t fight me on this,” Elia says, shaking his head at Martino. “It’s my birthday.”

“You only get to use that excuse so much.”

“Well, it is my birthday, so I get to use it as much as I want,” Elia points out. He knows why Martino is fighting this, fighting Elia’s attempts to get him alone with Filippo. There’s no reason to. Filippo is fun to hang out with alone.

“It was definitely not the artistry,” Filippo says as he tucks his phone away, a hand landing on Elia’s knee, brief but gentle.

Martino’s eyebrows rise, skeptical. “You’re saying it was the subject?”

“I’m very handsome,” Elia says simply, and he ignores Gio’s bark of laughter. His friends are truly the worst. Here he is, trying to help Martino hook up with someone, distracting Gio from his Eva problems, all on his very own birthday, and they have the audacity to laugh at him.

“I bet Filo’s camera could make anyone look good,” Martino says, and it’s more a compliment of Filippo’s photography than anything.

“That is probably true,” Elia agrees, squeezing Filippo’s shoulder, his knee warm where Filippo’s palm still sits, and he wonders if Filippo should have moved it by now. “But I merely enhance his art.”

“Filo?” Martino asks plainly, as if daring him to disagree with Elia.

Elia stares at Filippo, waiting for his answer, watching his tongue dart out to pull his lip ring inside his mouth as he thinks.

“A picture is only as beautiful as its subject,” he says finally, and Elia sits back, satisfied, patting Filippo’s hand on his knee.

“He called me beautiful.”

Martino rolls his eyes, but Elia doesn’t care. Filippo agrees with him, and that’s all that matters.

*

“Hey, Filo,” Elia says, feeling loose and free as he leans back against the couch, face warm, the empty beer bottles doubled on the table before them. He feels kind of like he wants to dance, to put on some music and sway around the living room for no particular reason, to find someone to cling to and pretend it’ll last through more than one song. He’s only got Filippo, Martino, and Gio to choose from, though, and Gio has his nose pressed to his phone screen, and Martino’s eyes are starting to droop.

Elia doesn’t think Filippo would say no, but he forgets the thought of dancing when Filippo turns his gaze on him, slumped onto the couch next to him. Martino blinks at the both of them, watching through half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s your favorite photographer?” Elia asks, reaching out without thinking, repositioning a curl on Filippo’s head.

“Federico Patellani,” Filippo says after a minute. “He really knew how to tell a story through his photographs.”

Elia doesn’t know who that is, but he nods anyway. “Do you have any of his pictures?”

“Copies,” Filippo admits, and his shirt is askew as he shifts, the hem bunching over the top of his jeans. It’s distracting Elia as he gazes at it. “I have one in my room.”

“You should show it to me some time,” Elia says. He’d like to see who inspires Filippo. He could look the guy up, but he won’t remember his name half an hour from now, let alone once he’s sober.

Filippo sighs, setting his last bottle on the table. Elia is pretty sure they drank an entire store’s worth of beers tonight, and he’s starting to feel it. He doesn’t want to move, though, comfortable on Filippo’s soft couch, spread out as much as he can with Filippo beside him, legs nudging against Filippo’s, arm slung across the back of the couch, just close enough that he can brush his fingers against Filippo’s hair if he wants.

“Remind me and I will,” Filippo says, smiling at Elia.

Things are so easy with Filippo. Elia usually makes friends easily, but they rarely feel like this, like he just wants to know more about them.

“So what do you do besides football and FIFA and skateboarding?” Filippo asks over the clicking of Gio on his phone’s keyboard.

“Fuck.” Elia laughs, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

Martino’s head drops for a second behind Filippo and he jerks it back up, narrowing his eyes slightly as though it’s Elia’s fault.

“You cook,” Martino says and Elia shrugs.

“Sometimes.” It’s nothing fancy. But he is definitely the best cook out of his friends, and he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen.

“He’s good,” Martino says, and Elia wonders why he now suddenly cares about talking to Filippo.

“I’m okay,” he says as Filippo smiles at him, and he catches the way Martino leans back into the couch, watching him with a curious look on his face. Elia doesn’t want to know what Martino is thinking.

“I guess I’ll just have to be the judge,” Filippo says, and Elia laughs.

“I guess so.”

“Guys,” Gio says from the chair. “I’ve got to go meet Eva.”

“Take Peccio with you,” Elia says, nodding at their friend on the floor, still fast asleep.

“I’ll put him on a bus,” Gio promises, prodding Peccio awake. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“We never do,” Martino says, flashing Gio a smile, but it fades the moment Gio turns his back.

At the door, it opens before Gio can manage the doorknob between keeping Peccio upright. Eleonora blinks at the two of them, looking past to Filippo.

“Having a party?” she asks, stepping aside to let Gio and Peccio pass. After they disappear down the hall, she turns back to Filippo, who shrugs.

“It’s Elia’s birthday,” he says, and Elia grins.

Eleonora drops her purse on the front table, looking between Elia and Filippo. Elia hasn’t spoken to her much, but from the look she gives Filippo, he thinks it might be wise not to cross her. Then again, he never claimed to be that smart.

“Happy birthday,” she says at length. He’s not sure she means it.

“You want a beer?” he offers, but she shakes her head, gaze still on Filippo as though silently communicating something with him. Filippo merely rolls his eyes in response.

“I’m just going to go to bed. Try to keep it down if you don’t mind.”

“Should we be going?” Martino asks as they watch her disappear down the hall and they hear a door shut a minute later.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Filippo says, glancing at Elia.

Elia grins, tilting his head to the side. He’s never been one for common sense. “I say we put on some music and have a real party.”

Martino seems to sigh, but Filippo doesn’t. Instead, he laughs and pulls out his phone.

“You seem like a Katy Perry fan,” he says, and Elia shoves his shoulder.

“Fuck you,” he says, laughing as his knee presses to Filippo’s and he doesn’t bother to move it, watching Filippo scroll through the music choices. Sitting there, he doesn’t think he’d mind either way, what Filippo decides to play, as long as this evening doesn’t have to end so soon.

“There,” Filippo says, hitting play, and Ariana Grande fills the room. While Martino groans and curls up into the couch, Elia merely laughs. It’s been a much better birthday then he expected, and it has a lot to do with Filippo.

*

Martino bumps into Elia as they head for the bus stop, dragging their feet and rubbing their eyes. Elia has not sobered up, not really, not enough that he’ll be able to sneak into his house without running into every piece of furniture possible. He hadn’t taken up Filippo on his offer to crash on the couch, though, because it’s far too late to text his mom he’s staying at a friend’s house. He should have been home hours ago.

“I don’t get it,” Martino mumbles as the bus stop comes into view, lit up by a singular flickering light. 

“What?” Elia asks when Martino doesn’t go on and they slump onto the bench to wait.

“You didn’t say you liked Filo.”

Glancing over, Elia frowns at Martino. He’s had far too much to drink to decipher what Martino means by that.

“What are you talking about? I said he was cool. Of course I like him.”

“No.” Martino shakes his head, slowly, as though there’s too much alcohol swishing around his brain. Elia feels the same, but in his stomach. “You _like_ him.”

Martino says it as though Elia is still in primary school, as if he doesn’t know what the word ‘like’ means. Elia knows what it means. He just doesn’t understand why the hell he’s saying it about Filippo.

“I’m not gay, Marti,” Elia reminds him, shoving the sleeve of his jacket up and blinking as the light flickers on and burns his corneas. “I don’t want to fuck a guy.”

Filippo is his friend. Just because Filippo kissed him once doesn’t mean Elia is suddenly into guys. Or that Filippo is into him.

Martino rolls his eyes, as though Elia is exhausting. Elia could say the same about him.

“Being gay isn’t just about fucking,” Martino says, words slow and slurred. “You didn’t want to sleep with your primary school crushes. You just wanted to be around them, to spend time with them.”

Frowning, Elia doesn’t know what to say. That’s not what’s happening with Filippo.

“Being gay, or bisexual, or pansexual, or whatever, it’s just about finding someone who makes you feel good.”

Elia glances at Martino, wishing he was slightly more sober for this conversation so he could rationally and logically tell Martino that he was crazy. That Elia has never been attracted to a guy in his life, and just because he and Filippo get along so well doesn’t mean he’s suddenly bisexual. That’s not how it works, right?

“You’re drunk, Marti,” he says instead, and Martino bobs his head, not meeting Elia’s gaze, staring at his clasped hands instead.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But I’m right.”

Martino can’t be right. Martino is supposed to date Filippo because _Martino_ is the blind one, the one who thinks he’s the only one who knows about his crush on Gio. Elia has no idea what Martino thinks he saw tonight, but it wasn’t something between Elia and Filippo.

Martino is not allowed to be right, not right now when Elia can’t quite get his thoughts straight, his argument that there’s nothing between him and Filippo. Elia likes girls. He always has. Just because Filippo has those pretty brown eyes, full, pink lips, a smile that makes Elia feel better no matter what’s happening… oh fuck.

Elia doesn’t even know what that means. 

How could Martino notice that before Elia? Is it possible that Elia is as blind as Martino?

Shit. Sitting on the hard bench, Elia doesn’t reply to Martino, eyes on a wet leaf stuck to the pavement. It’s not possible. Martino is just seeing things, and now Elia is over-thinking everything—every touch, every time he laughed at something Filippo said, every time Filippo grinned at him and his chest tightened imperceptibly. It’s ridiculous.

“You and him are going to hook up,” Elia says, but Martino shakes his head.

“No,” is all Martino says, simple and finite somehow.

Elia doesn’t argue this time, chewing on his lip and barely looking up at the squeak of the bus brakes around the corner. He kinds hopes he’ll forget this conversation by tomorrow so he won’t have to answer the question swirling inside his brain.

Does he like Filo, and fuck, if he does, what happens next?

*

Elia is glad to see Martino looks just as bad as he feels the next morning, dragging himself to school with a hangover to rival any he’s ever had before. He’d somehow made it home, managed to avoid most of the furniture (though not the coffee table with the sharp edges that left a dent in his knee), his conversation with Martino forgotten the minute his head hit the pillow.

It comes back to him in full-force, though, as he watches Martino slump against the wall, grimacing in the sunlight. Martino thinks that Elia likes Filippo. Elia never thought to ask why he thinks that, not last night when he’d been too drunk to even think straight.

He doesn’t want to bring it up, not if there’s even the slightest chance that Martino doesn’t remember.

“From now on, we have to celebrate your birthday on the weekends,” Martino grumbles as the leaves shift in the breeze, and he gets a faceful of sun.

“You’re such an old man,” Elia says, but he can’t deny he wishes he could have stayed home today. He’s sure his mom knows exactly what happened last night, as she seemed to have no problem barging into his room early and making as much noise as humanly possible.

Elia hasn’t had time to really think about what Martino said, his ludicrous idea that Elia was into Filippo, and he doesn’t have any time now as Filippo appears around the corner with Eleonora. Elia wants to turn away, but he catches Martino’s eyes on Filippo, and fuck, he has to act normal, like Martino didn’t say all that shit last night, like he doesn’t remember. In case Martino does.

“Hey,” Filippo greets both of them and Eleonora sweeps onward without so much as a backward glance. “You guys make it home okay last night?”

Elia nods easily. “No problems.”

“I wasn’t sure I should let you go,” Filippo says, a slight smile on his face. “You were pretty wasted. I felt like a bad friend.”

“No, you couldn’t have done anything to make us stay,” Elia says, and he glances at Martino, who is resolutely silent, as if he wants Elia to do all the talking. He looks back to Filippo, who looks awake and chipper and all the things Elia is definitely _not_ this morning. “Why aren’t you hungover?”

“Water,” Filippo says, as though it’s the obvious answer. “And I didn’t have nearly as many as you guys.”

“Fuck you,” Elia complains despite Filippo’s smile. “I want you to feel as shitty as I do right now.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“You know what I mean.” Elia watches Filippo laugh, the way he bites his lip ring, the way he kicks the ground with his bright red sneakers, the way he catches Elia’s eyes and something deep in Elia’s stomach clenches hard, unexpectedly.

This is not happening. It’s not even possible. Elia doesn’t like guys. Not like that. But maybe he likes Filippo, a little voice in the back of his head says, a voice that sounds suspiciously like a drunk Martino.

Looking away, Elia searches for something to distract him from the feeling that thought gives him, an uneasiness he’s not used to, a sudden nervousness he’s never felt around Filippo before.

“Looks like Eva and Gio made up again,” Martino says at length, and he’s gazing across the yard to where Eva and Gio appear to be talking.

“They are way too dramatic,” Elia says, and Martino barely nods.

Filippo looks back to Elia and Martino, seemingly unconcerned with Gio and Eva. “I found this great park the other day—lots of cool graffiti—I was thinking of maybe taking some photos there. We could do a little more for your Instagram.”

Another whole day alone with Filippo. A part of Elia wants to say yes, to spend all afternoon laughing with Filippo, taking stupid pictures and arguing about what counts as artistic license, but that’s exactly what happened last time, and now Elia can’t help thinking that it’s a bad idea.

“I’m busy this weekend,” he says finally. “But you and Marti should go. He needs way more help than me.”

“I do not,” Martino argues, but Filippo is watching Elia.

That’s it, Elia thinks. If he can get Filippo to like Martino, he won’t have to think about this anymore. He won’t have to figure out what it means that he _wants_ to say yes so badly.

Stupid Martino. Elia hates him for bringing this up in the first place.

“You so do,” he says, grabbing Martino’s shoulder. “Filo could give you a hand with that ghost town you call an account.”

Filippo shrugs after a second, glancing away from Elia. “I’m down if you are.”

“He’s in,” Elia says before Martino can open his mouth to say no. “It’ll be good for you.”

“For me,” Martino mutters, and Elia decides to ignore that, patting Martino’s shoulder.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Elia isn’t sure he’ll thank Martino, though, for ever putting this idea in his head.

*

Lying on his bed, the open window attempting to tempt in what little breeze there is on this almost unpleasantly warm spring day, Elia is definitely not as busy as he wishes he was.

Right now, Filippo and Martino are probably laughing and having a great time at a park somewhere, taking great-looking photos and talking about movies and music and why Filippo moved here with only his sister for company.

Elia can’t help bringing up Instagram for the fifth time in ten minutes, checking his feed, but there’s nothing new from Martino or Filippo there. There are a bunch of photos from some party last night, and Elia sees Eva’s face in a few. He isn’t really interested in why he wasn’t invited or if he would have gone even if he was.

It’s all Martino’s fault, he thinks, rolling onto his back and sighing as he slides his phone back on the bedside table. Martino’s fault for bringing this up in the first place, this ridiculous suggestion that Elia likes Filippo.

He shouldn’t even care, shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But he is. Elia can’t stop thinking about it.

He just wishes _one_ of them would post something on Instagram so he can stop obsessing. Elia is not the obsessing type, at least, he never has been except for a few girls he thought he had a shot with. 

Unable to stop himself, he grabs his phone again, pulling up the group chat and rereading the messages from Martino calling Elia an asshole for making him do this. There haven’t been any messages since then, though, and Elia knows why.

Martino is out having fun with Filippo because Filippo is fun. They’re probably talking about how annoying Elia is right now.

Switching to Instagram, the first picture that comes up is one of Daniela, or more specifically her legs as she sits on some balcony, sun tanning. Elia’s thumb hovers over the heart but he doesn’t press it, scrolling down instead.

His heart leaps as he sees Filippo’s name, his familiar profile picture, and the picture comes into view on the screen. It’s Filippo and Martino, both grinning as though they’re having the time of their lives.

_My beautiful Rose is blooming_, reads the caption, and Elia stares at it, an unexpected surge of annoyance running through him. They’re having a good day because he forced Martino to go, and Filippo hadn’t fought him.

Blinking, Elia checks himself, shaking his head as he tosses the phone to the foot of his bed and sits up. He shouldn’t be jealous. Wasn’t the whole point to set up Martino with Filippo? Get Martino over his thing about Gio? Not that Martino has ever admitted to having a thing for Gio.

This is what he wanted, Elia reminds himself, turning to the window and gazing out at the buildings rising up beyond. He wants Martino and Filippo to get along, to date even. That’s the whole point of this. It’s not to get jealous over a photo, over a day he turned down because he’s afraid of what might happen if he spends time alone with Filippo now that all he can think about is the way his heart fell from his chest the other day when Filippo smiled at him.

He is so screwed, he thinks, tossing a glare at his phone. Stupid Martino and his stupid drunk theory.

How could Martino have possibly figured it out first? Martino won’t even admit his thing for Gio. It’s not fair that he can be this perceptive but so blind to everything else.

Elia doesn’t even know what he would do about his feelings, if he had any, if they are something more than friendship. He’s not gay, and he doesn’t know if he would even call himself bi because it’s not like he wants to kiss every guy on the street. It’s too confusing to think about, and Elia flops back on the bed.

He should be happy for Martino, happy that Martino will finally stop moping around, waiting for something that will never happen with Gio, let Gio be happy with his Eva drama.

He is happy for them, Elia tells himself, feeling the sun warming his arm as it sinks lower in the afternoon sky, pushing inside his window. He is.

*

High above the empty pool, on the long, tall benches, Martino sits with Eva and Elia frowns as he watches.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” he asks as Gio skates up to him, circling him easily.

“Who knows,” Gio says with a shrug, smiling up at Eva. Martino flips them off.

Martino has been in an exceptionally good mood all day, and normally, Elia wouldn’t think anything of it, but he knows what Martino was doing this weekend.

Elia waited all day yesterday for Martino to finally post a picture on Instagram. When he finally did, it was a carefully edited snap of him against a graffiti’d wall, staring directly into the camera. Elia wondered how long it took Filippo to get that shot, if he’d coached Martino into it or it had just happened naturally.

“Did you see that picture Marti posted?” Elia asks because apparently he can’t let it go.

Gio laughs, drifting around Elia on his skateboard. “Not as overtly sexual as yours, but I think Filo captured the essence.”

“Yeah,” Elia mutters, looking away from Eva and Martino finally. He’s not jealous of Martino, Martino spending time with Filippo. That’s what he wanted.

“Marti said Filo was talking about going to a gay club,” Gio goes on, and Elia can’t help the way his eyebrows rise.

“Marti wants to go to a gay club?”

Gio shrugs in response, but Elia isn’t convinced. It took an exceptional amount of weed for Martino to even gather the courage to come out to them. He sincerely doubts Martino wants to go to a gay club.

“You want to go to a gay club?” he asks instead, and Gio waves his hand at Elia.

“If Marti wants to go, I’ll go with him.”

Gio has a point, Elia thinks, swiveling his skateboard under his toe. They should be supporting Martino in shit like this. Elia has never questioned that, and he doesn’t know why he would start now. Except for the tiny angry monster burrowing in his chest when he thinks that Filippo is probably the one that invited Martino, that they’ll go and dance and—he frowns at the thought—kiss.

Shaking himself sharply, Elia needs to get a grip. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Then we should go,” he says simply as Gio watches him, his concerned expression easing at Elia’s words. “After all, we can’t let Marti go alone. He might go home with a troll.”

Gio snorts, shaking his head. “You’ve made out with plenty of trolls.”

“Shut up. I have not,” Elia argues, glancing back up at Martino in the distance. He and Eva are leaning together, the sky overcast behind them. Martino deserves to be happy. They all do.

“Maybe we’ll find you someone to make out with at the club,” Gio says reassuringly, grabbing Elia’s shoulder. “I hear straight girls go to gay clubs all the time.”

For once in his life, Elia isn’t as excited about the idea as he should be. He’s just going to have to get through this, for Martino’s sake.

*

Filippo looks different, different than Elia has ever seen him at school or even outside of it. He’s wearing jeans so tight, Elia is sure he used a vacuum to get them on, and his pink shirt is at least a size too small, riding up every time Filippo raises his arms.

Filippo seems to have an in with the bartender too, which explains why Elia has had so many colorful drinks tonight, and he’s pretty sure Martino has had even more. Martino is still upright, though, hanging off Gio at the bar and grinning at everything he says.

“Another drink?” Filippo asks as he weaves his way through the crowd, holding two glasses above his head, and Elia has to look away from Filippo’s stomach and the strip of bare skin.

“Yeah,” Elia agrees eagerly, taking the one Filippo offers and tossing it back. Despite how sugary it tastes, Elia is sure it has way more alcohol content than his usual beers. “Shouldn’t you be with Marti?”

Filippo glances over his shoulder, over to where Martino is watching Gio talk to the bartender.

“Gio’s got him,” he says, flashing a smile at Elia. Elia’s stomach flips over on itself, and he’ll blame the ninety proof vodka he’s sure he just drank. “Come on, Eli, you’re at a club. You can’t come here and not dance.”

“No one to dance with,” Elia says simply. He hasn’t seen any girls, like Gio had promised, just more than a few guys who had seemed to eye him as he walked past.

“Bull,” Filippo says, taking Elia’s wrist and pulling him in closer. “You can always dance with me.”

Elia opens his mouth to protest, but he doesn’t quite get there as Filippo drops his wrist and sways to the music, letting his head roll back. For a second, Elia feels himself swallow, feels the alcohol clouding his brain as his eyes scrape down Filippo’s throat and he decides, what the hell. He can dance with Filippo. There’s no harm in that.

“You’re not bad at this,” Filippo says a minute later when he looks at Elia. He slides his arms over Elia’s shoulders as they dance together, an energetic bounce to the beat, throbbing, pulling at Elia’s pulse, bodies pressing in around them, and Elia nods.

He wants to say something smart, something funny, but nothing comes to mind as he moves closer to Filippo, their hips swaying together. Filippo’s body is warm under his hands when they land, all on their own, on his sides, thumbs resting against his ribcage, and Filippo grins at him, bright and blinding even in the flashing red lights covering the dance floor.

Elia almost stops dancing when Filippo leans into his ear, breath hot against his skin.

“If you were gay, you could definitely clean up in here,” Filippo says, and Elia tries not to shiver at Filippo’s fingers on the back of his neck. “A lot of guys are watching you.”

Elia swallows, tilting his mouth to Filippo’s ear slowly. “Well, they can’t have me.”

He hears Filippo’s laugh, tries not to be disappointed when Filippo moves back, his hands sliding back to Elia’s shoulders.

“Guys.”

Gio’s voice interrupts them and Elia steps back from Filippo quickly, as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. Filippo doesn’t seem to notice, turning to Gio.

“I have to go pick up my brother,” Gio says, waving the phone clutched in his hand. “I think Marti’s had a lot to drink.” He nods over his shoulder, and Elia cranes to see Martino slumped against the bar, frowning at his phone. “Could you keep an eye on him?”

“No problem,” Filippo assures him, and Elia glances at him instead. He doesn’t say anything, but nods along as Gio tucks his phone away, looking reassured.

“Okay. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Be good!”

Gio disappears into the crowd, and Elia wishes he wouldn’t, wishes Filippo didn’t have to head over to Martino and sling an arm around his shoulder.

“Marti,” Filippo says, and Martino makes a vague noise, still staring at his phone, as though thinking very hard about what’s on the screen. It’s just Instagram as far as Elia can tell as he settles in next to Martino. “You want to dance with me? I’m very good. Elia can vouch.”

“I want another drink,” Martino says instead, slurring his words, and Filippo glances at Elia, a silent concern.

“Water?”

Martino shakes his head, nearly dropping his phone in the process. Elia manages to catch it, taking it from Martino and tucking it safely in his pocket instead.

“Not water,” Martino says, trying to turn back to the bar, but Filippo’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Hey, come on, Rose,” Filippo says, sharing another glance with Elia, who slides off his stool. Martino isn’t usually the one who gets pass-out drunk. “Maybe it’s time we move the party somewhere else.”

“Where else?” Martino asks, stumbling down from the stool, and Elia grabs his arm to steady him.

“How about your house?” Elia says, watching Filippo brace Martino, a firm arm around his waist, and Martino sways into him, as if Filippo is the only thing keeping him up. Elia feels a swift swoop of jealousy that he tries to shove away even as Filippo helps Martino toward the door.

“Mmm,” is all Martino says in reply to Elia as they move carefully through the crowd, finally reaching the club door and stepping into the dimly-lit street beyond.

Filippo meets Elia’s gaze as they pause outside, Martino leaning against Filippo’s shoulder. 

“I can get him home,” he says, and Elia nods despite himself. “His house is on my way.”

“His mom is a heavy sleeper,” Elia says as Filippo starts to turn. “You shouldn’t have any problems.”

Filippo smiles after a second and hefts Martino back up. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Elia mutters as he watches Filippo haul Martino into the darkness. It’s how it should be, he tells himself, Filippo helping Martino home, Elia going the opposite direction. It’s just, he somehow doesn’t like it at all.

*

All Elia hears are whispers. Well, whispers and not-so-quiet outright accusations that Eva kissed some fourth year, Federico something. Two girls in class don’t even lower their voices when Eva walks in that morning, and Elia follows her gaze to Gio’s empty seat.

Martino doesn’t look her in the eyes, and Eva doesn’t try to get Elia’s attention either. Elia doesn’t know the truth, but he knows that Gio had texted early that morning that he wasn’t coming to school, and Elia is loyal if he is anything.

At break, Martino mutters something about calling Gio and vanishes down the stairs, leaving Elia to wander outside alone. Girls are just too much drama.

“Where is everyone else?” Filippo steps up to where Elia leans against the wall outside, scrolling through Twitter.

He glances up, pausing on Filippo’s curious expression. He wonders if Filippo means, where is Martino?

“Gio’s not here today,” he says, pushing that thought out of his head. “Marti went to check up on him.”

“Is he sick?”

Elia shakes his head. “Not exactly. Eleonora didn’t tell you about him and Eva?”

Filippo frowns, moving next to Elia and dropping his bag on the ground. “She doesn’t really share her friends’ gossip with me.”

“What’s the point of being a twin if you don’t get to bitch about people together?”

“Matching clothes as children,” Filippo says with a smile. “Your mother always calling you by the wrong name. People who don’t understand not all twins are identical.”

“Sounds great,” Elia drawls, and Filippo nods.

“It’s not all bad. Ele can cook, well, one dish, and it is nice to have someone to bitch with.”

Shaking his head, Elia smiles. “How much do you have to complain about anyway?”

“You’d be surprised,” Filippo says, but he doesn’t elaborate. A part of Elia wants to know, wants to know what Filippo goes through that he has no idea about. It’s a strange thought, and it surprises Elia.

“So how are things with Marti?” he asks, chasing away that new desire. He’s not supposed to want things like that, not with Filippo, not when Martino and him are posting matching pictures on Instagram and Filippo is helping his drunk ass home from gay clubs like a good boyfriend should.

Filippo glances at him, an eyebrow furrowed. “They’re fine.”

“Good,” Elia says simply, checking the time as people start to move back into the school. “I better go find him before he’s late.”

Filippo doesn’t say anything as Elia leaves him at the wall, climbing the stairs two at a time. He’s glad they’re doing fine, glad things are working out. He really really is. Really.

*

Elia doesn’t really remember how it started—probably when he said, “We need to cheer you up, bro”—but it ends with everyone sprawled around Elia’s dad’s living room. Gio sits slumped in the old leather chair, his beer half-full even after an hour, as if he just doesn’t have the energy to drink it.

Martino, despite everything, seems in a better mood than he has been, and Elia is pretty sure it has to do with the way Filippo is sitting next to him on the couch. Elia has settled for the floor and the threadbare rug his dad has had since before he was born. Apparently that’s what he got in the divorce.

The truth is, Elia has no idea how to cheer Gio up aside from beer and aimless conversation about FIFA and school. Elia doesn’t really feel in the mood either, not with Filippo and Martino sitting so close together.

He shouldn’t feel this way, he tells himself as he drains his beer and sets it on the rug with a clunk. He could have done something months ago, the first time Filippo kissed him in his kitchen. But he’d been stupid then. Now, he can’t take any of that back.

“My last boyfriend cheated on me,” Filippo says, breaking the silence, and Gio looks up from where he’s picking at the label on his bottle. He pauses before going on. “He was sleeping with this older guy for, like, a month. I only found out because my friend saw them at a bar and told me.”

Gio nods understandingly, and Elia frowns.

“That’s shitty, bro,” he says, and Filippo smiles slightly.

“It was. But it was for the best, really. At least I found out before I really got attached.”

Elia thinks they’re far past that point with Gio and Eva, but he doesn’t say it. There’s no use trying to cheer Gio up by saying he’s better off without Eva, that he should count himself lucky. 

Beside Filippo, Martino shifts slightly, leaning back on the couch, and Elia’s gaze goes to him.

At least Martino won’t have to worry about Filippo cheating on him, Elia thinks. Filippo doesn’t seem the type to be so recklessly cruel. Martino got lucky there.

Elia just realized things too late, too late to do anything, and even if he had realized earlier, he doesn’t know what he would have done. It isn’t as though he knows how to go about getting a real date with someone. Most of his experiences with the opposite sex have happened at parties, never to be repeated, and never lasting longer than an hour or two.

He’s never wanted to really date anyone anyway, and he wouldn’t know where to begin, with a girl or a guy.

Leaning back on his hands, Elia sighs as silence falls again in the room. He doesn’t think they’ll be doing much cheering up tonight, so he grabs another beer and twists it open, letting the cap fall with a clink on the rug and looking away as Filippo’s gaze slides to him across the room. That ship has sailed and Elia has to accept it, for Martino’s sake.

*

Filippo smiles at something Eleonora says, but Elia can’t hear what he says in reply, all the way across the courtyard, as if Elia is watching a silent film.

He wishes he didn’t care what Filippo was saying, if he’s talking about Martino and how happy he is. Frowning, Elia doesn’t look away from Filippo’s laughing face, not until Gio nudges his elbow.

“What are you staring at?” he asks, and Elia shakes his head easily.

There’s no point in telling Gio about any of this. Gio’s going through his own shit with Eva, and Elia doesn’t need to add to it with pointless lamenting about Filippo. Plus, Elia is not going to ruin Martino finally being happy.

Gio leans back against the wall, plucking a leaf off a tree hanging down over their heads. Elia hasn’t asked about Eva, and he knows he should. He’s just been too wrapped up in his own head.

“Are you okay?” Gio asks it first, surprising Elia, and it shouldn’t. Outside of Eva, Gio has always been the first to notice when things are off.

“Me? Yeah,” Elia says, flashing Gio an easy smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Gio shrugs, eyes on Eva as she walks past, clutching her books to her chest and barely making eye contact with anyone until she reaches Eleonora, who envelops her in a hug.

“I feel like I’ve been kind of a shitty friend,” Gio goes on, tearing his gaze from Eva. “I’ve been so wrapped up in all the Eva stuff.”

“Dude, you’re in love,” Elia reassures him. “It’s totally normal to ignore your friends.”

“I didn’t ignore you,” Gio argues, though he doesn’t argue the love part. “But you can tell me if there’s anything I missed.”

Anything he missed. Elia doesn’t frown, not with Gio watching him, giving him that look he usually reserves for Martino. It’s that concerned, waiting for him to talk kind of look that makes Elia want to spill his guts. He wants to tell Gio all about these confusing feelings for Filippo, how he set up Martino and Filippo and now he wishes he really hadn’t because the thought of them together makes Elia’s stomach knot.

But what good would it do? Telling Gio won’t change anything, and if Elia is going to tell his best friend that he’s maybe not totally straight, he should have a reason, right? Or at least a prospect.

So he flashes a smile at Gio and punches his shoulder. “You didn’t miss anything.”

It’s far from the truth, but Elia thinks he’ll believe it too, in time.

*

The group chat is unusually silent and no one responds when Elia asks what they’re doing tonight. He’s beyond bored, and he can’t spend all night at home with his mom, who is on a Netflix kick. As much as Elia loves the Great British Bake Off, he can’t spend another hour listening to his mom gush over tiny macaron hearts or bread in the shape of dragons. He can’t do it.

_Where the hell is everyone?_ he sends to the chat, but neither Martino nor Gio respond.

Slumped on the couch, Elia sighs, looking up as his mom comes in from the kitchen, a plate of cookies in her hands.

“You ready for season four?” she asks, and Elia tries not to groan.

“I think the guys are gonna meet up,” he says as his phone remains resolutely silent.

“But you’re going to miss it,” she says, sitting down next to him and reaching for the remote.

“I’ll catch up later,” he assures her, pushing himself off the couch. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he can’t stay here now.

His mom shoots him a knowing look. “Don’t stay out too late, Elia. We have church in the morning.”

“I’ll be back,” he promises, tucking his phone in his pocket and grabbing his keys off the little hook by the door.

Once outside, down the stairs and on the street, Elia sighs. The guys still haven’t responded to the message. He starts walking anyway, not sure if he intends on bursting in on Gio and demanding to know why they’re both ignoring him or if he’ll just end up in a park somewhere all alone.

They’re probably not ignoring him, he thinks as he walks. Gio never has, not really, and Martino’s been quiet lately. Elia would have thought the whole Filippo thing would make him happy.

Speaking of Filippo, Elia doesn’t know how, but his feet have carried him right to Filippo’s apartment. Gazing up at the tall building, he pauses.

They’re still friends, even if Elia really is that stupid. He checks his phone one last time, his last message sitting unread on the screen, before approaching the building and pulling open the door.

At Filippo’s apartment, Elia shoves aside any reservations and knocks. He wants to be friends with Filippo, even if it means dealing with his stupid feelings. Elia is not going to get in the way of his friend’s happiness, even if that friend is Martino, who spends half his time being a snarky asshole and the other half mooning over Gio.

Eleonora opens the door, seemingly unsurprised to find Elia by himself in their hallway.

“Filo!” she calls without even waiting for Elia to greet her. “It’s for you.”

Stepping back, she lets Elia in without a word, though Elia catches the way her eyes flick down him, the twist to her mouth as she crosses her arms.

The silence is awkward for a moment, and Elia wonders if he should say something, but all he can think that they have in common is Eva and Filippo, neither of which are particularly great topics of conversation at the moment.

Filippo pads into the living room a second later, much to Elia’s relief, wearing loose-fitting jeans for possibly the first time ever and no shoes. He, at least, looks surprised to see Elia.

“Hey. Were we supposed to meet up?”

“No,” Elia says quickly, glancing at Eleonora, who is watching him carefully. “I don’t know where Marti and Gio are, so I thought I’d come by.”

“Third choice,” Filippo says, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “I get it.”

“This is riveting conversation,” Eleonora says as Elia opens his mouth to argue that Filippo is in no way a third choice. “But I think I’ll go back to my homework.”

Filippo rolls his eyes. “Go away, Ele. No one invited you.”

She tosses a sneer over her shoulder before disappearing through a door and shutting it behind her.

“Maybe we should go in my room,” Filippo suggests with an easy smile. “In case she’s listening at the door.”

“Fuck you, Filo!” Eleonora yells from behind the door, and Filippo shoots Elia a knowing look.

“You want a drink?” he asks, and Elia shrugs as Filippo heads to the kitchen.

“Sure.” It isn’t as if he had a plan coming over here, as if he has anything to say. He was just bored and alone and Filippo’s was the first place he happened upon. Not that he wouldn’t have wanted to come here.

Filippo grabs two beers out of the fridge and Elia follows him down the hall to his bedroom. He’s never seen Filippo’s room, the door not really a door but a sheet tacked up over the opening, the same at the windows, sunlight pushing through the corners. It’s unexpectedly messy considering the state of the rest of the house, and Filippo shoves clothes aside on the floor to clear a path to the bed.

Sitting down, Filippo hands Elia a beer, and Elia tries to not think about the fact that he’s in Filippo’s room right now, sitting on his bed, the mattress forcing him to slide closer to Filippo. It’s not weird. He’s been in his friends’ bedrooms a thousand times and never thought about it like this.

“So,” Filippo says after a minute, as Elia looks all around the room, at the rainbow flags tacked up on the wall, movie posters and actors, and one black and white photo that looks like it’s from the 30s. “You just felt like stopping by?”

Shrugging, Elia looks at Filippo finally, watching him take a drink. “Apparently everyone else has abandoned us.”

“How dare they,” Filippo says, shaking his head.

“You haven’t heard from Marti, have you?” If anyone would, it would probably be Filippo.

“No.”

Elia nods slowly. “You two are cute together.”

Filippo tilts his head to the side, setting his beer on the cluttered table by the bed. “What?”

Elia can be supportive, supportive of his friends. He can get over this crush, or whatever it is, on Filippo if it means no more mopey Martino.

“You and Marti. You make a good couple.”

For a second, Filippo just stares at Elia, and Elia doesn’t know why.

“I’m not dating Marti, Elia,” Filippo says slowly, as though confused. “I don’t want to date Marti. I don’t like him that way. I like someone else.”

It’s not what Elia expects and he frowns. In between the confusion, he feels a tiny bit of hope spring up. Filippo isn’t dating Martino.

“Please don’t tell me it’s Gio, for god’s sake.”

If it’s Gio, Elia is going to just give up on dating at all. Gio’s his best friend, but he can’t be that universally attractive or else Elia is doing something very wrong.

Filippo shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed as he watches Elia. “It’s not Gio.”

Elia sighs, relieved. “Oh, good. Then who is it?”

Elia hasn’t seen Filippo flirt with anyone at school—at least, he doesn’t think he has. But maybe it’s someone Elia doesn’t know. Maybe it’s some guy from a club. The thought makes his stomach sink and he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

Huffing, Filippo rolls his eyes. “It’s you, you idiot.”

Elia feels his eyes go wide, his heart climbing into his throat as he stares at Filippo. “I’m…”

“I know, I know,” Filippo interrupts, throwing up his hands and looking away from Elia. “I don’t know why I always do this, fall for the straight guy when I _know_ I shouldn’t. And I don’t want to screw this up because I like being your friend, so I’m trying not to think about it.”

Elia doesn’t interrupt Filippo, watching the way he speaks more to the mattress than to Elia, as though trying to explain himself when he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to fucking say anything, Elia thinks as his heart beats faster, as a smile curves his lips and he can’t believe this is really happening.

Filippo looks up at Elia, almost apologetic, like he hasn’t meant to admit any of this. “It’s hard enough to move and start over all the time, but I’d rather not have to start over agai—”

Elia cuts Filippo off, hands landing on his neck as he shifts into his space and kisses him. It’s different than the first time, all those months ago in Elia’s kitchen, because Elia lets himself enjoy it this time, thinks about the fact that it’s Filippo’s mouth pressed to his. He feels Filippo react, kiss him back, a gentle pressure against his lips, as though he’s still not quite sure this is real.

“Okay, you’re going to have to explain that,” Filippo murmurs when they move apart, though not very far as Elia hovers over Filippo’s lips.

Elia laughs easily, a giddy feeling rising in his stomach. “I don’t think I’m as completely and totally straight as I might have thought,” he admits, tilting his chin up to meet Filippo’s gaze. “Or at least, not when it comes to you.”

Filippo blinks for a second before smiling at Elia, reaching for the back of Elia’s neck, fingers running over the nape, and Elia never thought something as simple as that could make his body react, but it does. He wants to kiss Filippo again, to crawl in his lap and stay there for a while.

“And when did you figure this out?” Filippo asks, licking his lips, and Elia pulls his gaze up.

“Marti actually noticed first, if you can believe it,” Elia says, leaning into Filippo’s chest. He likes this, likes the way Filippo lets him move closer, embraces him with a hand on his waist. “On my birthday.”

Filippo nods. “You were flirting a lot.”

“Fuck you,” Elia says, without any heat. “You never told me why you kissed me that first night.”

“I thought you were into me.” Filippo shrugs. “You were flirting a lot then too. You said you wanted to go to a gay club. You kept asking questions.”

“That was for Marti,” Elia says, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was a subconscious attraction to Filippo. He has no idea. It doesn’t matter now.

“Marti didn’t seem to care.”

“Let’s stop talking about Marti,” Elia suggests, smirking when Filippo meets his gaze, and leaning into his mouth instead, kissing Filippo slowly.

Every kiss is different, and Elia likes it, likes that this one is deeper, a little more bite to it, Filippo laughing against his lips as everything shifts and Filippo’s hand bunches in Elia’s shirt.

“What are you going to tell the guys?” Filippo mumbles, and Elia shivers as Filippo’s hand slides up his back.

“That you’re really hot,” Elia replies, dragging his lips along Filippo’s piercing, and he feels Filippo’s smile.

“I guess that’ll do,” Filippo agrees, and Elia nods, kissing him again as they sink back onto the mattress. 

Elia’s not really worried about what the guys are going to say. He doesn’t care now that he’s finally got Filippo grinning at him like that. The guys will probably be happy someone got Elia to shut up.

And on Monday, when Filippo presses a kiss to his cheek before going to class, Martino doesn’t even look that surprised, and Gio only grins and calls him an asshole. That’s good enough for Elia, and he just smiles as he watches Filippo walk away, knowing he’ll be back soon enough.

*

FIN.


End file.
